The morning began with a strange heaviness in the air, as though the castle itself sensed intrusion. The owls sweeping through the rafters seemed unsettled, wings rustling harder than usual. By the time students gathered for breakfast, Filch was already hurrying across the courtyard, lantern forgotten at his side, muttering curses as he went.
At the gates of Hogwarts stood five figures. Four wore dark Auror robes, their presence sharp and severe, and beside them stood Dolores Umbridge, clad in her habitual pink. Her smile was tight, false, and fixed, her eyes glinting with the satisfaction of someone about to play a card she had been waiting to reveal.
Dumbledore himself descended the front steps, his purple robes whispering against the stone. He greeted them with calm courtesy, though his eyes carried no warmth.
"Dawlish," he said mildly. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"
Auror Dawlish, broad-shouldered and rigid, held out a folded parchment sealed with the Ministry's crest. "By order of the Minister of Magic, we are authorized to contain and remove a dangerous, undocumented creature currently kept within Hogwarts."
Dumbledore broke the seal, scanned the lines, and raised his eyes. "Containment," he repeated softly. "A word meant for beasts. Yet what you seek is no beast." He closed the parchment with a snap. "It is a phoenix."
Umbridge stepped forward with her practiced simper. "Surely you cannot be suggesting, Headmaster, that a child's companionship grants legitimacy to such a thing. Dangerous, unclassified magic cannot be left to the whims of schoolboys. Think of the risk."
"The risk," Dumbledore replied, his tone sharpening, "lies not in the phoenix, but in those who presume to claim what they do not understand."
A murmur passed among the Aurors. Tonks, her pink hair dimmed to a more subdued shade, shifted uncomfortably, though she kept her eyes forward. Shacklebolt remained impassive, though his gaze flicked briefly toward Umbridge as if weighing every word she said.
Dawlish cleared his throat. "Our orders are clear, Headmaster. We are to proceed."
"You may present your orders," Dumbledore said evenly, "but I have given no permission. Hogwarts is not under the Ministry's thumb."
Umbridge's smile did not falter, though her voice hardened under its sugar. "Surely, Headmaster, you do not wish this to become… confrontational. We are here for the safety of the children, after all."
"Then perhaps," Dumbledore said, his eyes flashing, "you should consider what truly endangers them: loyalty and protection, or arrogance and intrusion."
The words hung like steel in the crisp air.
Dawlish shifted, then jerked his chin. "We'll take this matter directly. With or without cooperation."
Dumbledore did not stop them. He only turned, robes sweeping behind him. "Then you had best walk with me. At least pretend civility while you trample it."
The Great Hall had rarely been so tense.
It was mid-breakfast when the doors banged open. Students turned in their seats, voices dropping to startled whispers as the Ministry party entered in a hard line. The Aurors marched at the front, wands at their sides, while Umbridge glided behind them like a spider savoring her web.
"Why are Aurors here?" a Ravenclaw muttered."It's the phoenix," hissed a Slytherin."They're going to take it—look, they're going for Night!"
At the Gryffindor table, Oliver stiffened. The black phoenix on his shoulder ruffled its feathers, its sky-blue eyes flashing. A low sound rumbled in its throat, halfway between a hum and a warning growl.
Fred and George leaned closer, muttering in unison. "This doesn't look good."
Harry's hand tightened on his goblet. Hermione sat forward, her brow furrowed, her eyes already darting between Oliver and the Aurors as though calculating possible outcomes. Ron, farther down the table, muttered something sour, but his voice was drowned by the growing hum of speculation.
Dawlish's voice cut through the noise, firm and clipped. "By order of the Ministry, Oliver Night, you are to surrender the creature in your possession for containment."
The hall stilled. Hundreds of eyes turned toward Oliver.
For a moment, he did not move. Then, slowly, he stood. The phoenix's talons tightened gently against his shoulder, steadying rather than restraining. Oliver's chest rose as he drew breath—not a nervous gulp, but something steadier, fuller.
"He's not a creature to be contained," Oliver said, his voice ringing across the hall. "He chose me. He's not dangerous unless you try to chain him. That's the truth, whether you like it or not."
Gasps rippled among the students. A Gryffindor clapped once, then stopped, silenced by the weight of the moment.
Umbridge's laugh was syrupy, forced. "Children are ever so dramatic. Dear boy, you cannot possibly believe you know better than the Ministry of Magic how to care for something so… volatile."
Oliver met her gaze directly, his own sharp. "I don't believe it. I know it. He's been with me every day since he appeared. He's never hurt anyone who didn't try to hurt him first. Can you say the same for your Ministry?"
The whisper that followed was louder this time, tinged with shock and admiration.
Dawlish bristled. "You will comply. Now."
"No," Oliver said flatly.
The single word echoed.
Hermione's breath caught. Harry leaned closer, a grin twitching at the corner of his mouth. Fred muttered, "That's the way, mate," while George whispered, "I'd have paid to see Malfoy's face just now."
Umbridge's smile cracked, just a little. "Defiance is unbecoming, dear. Best not to dig your hole deeper."
Oliver took a step forward, his phoenix's feathers brushing his cheek as though in approval. "And best not to think you can take what doesn't belong to you."
The silence that followed was electric.
Dawlish's jaw clenched. He raised his wand. "Then we'll do this the hard way."
Dawlish's wand snapped up, the tip glowing.
"Hold still, boy," he barked. "Incarcer—"
The black phoenix flared its wings wide, feathers gleaming like shards of midnight, and unleashed a piercing sonic cry.
The sound ripped through the hall like a blade of pure force. Dishes rattled, goblets toppled, and the enchanted ceiling flickered as though struck by lightning.
Aurors dropped first. Dawlish staggered, clutching his ears as blood trickled between his fingers. Proudfoot went down to one knee, his wand clattering on the flagstones. Even Shacklebolt grimaced, one large hand steadying himself against the wall.
But the students—hundreds of them—felt only a shudder in their bones, frightening but harmless. Not a single child clutched their ears. Not a single teacher faltered. The phoenix had chosen its targets with perfect precision.
Gasps filled the air. Whispers tumbled one over another.
Tonks darted forward, throwing an arm out protectively in front of the nearest cluster of first-years. Her voice was tight but steady. "Stay back! Stay calm!" She glanced up, eyes wide at the sight of the bird, but her stance was defensive—for the children, not against Oliver.
The phoenix's feathers bristled again, chest swelling as if preparing a second strike.
"Enough!" Oliver shouted, his voice ringing across the Great Hall.
Every head turned. He stepped forward, fists clenched at his sides, the phoenix still quivering on his shoulder.
"They don't deserve it," Oliver said firmly, meeting the bird's sky-blue gaze. "Not again. You've already shown them."
The phoenix let out a low, rumbling note that vibrated through the benches. Its wings folded slowly, deliberately, before it settled back against him, feathers brushing his cheek.
Oliver exhaled, steady, and faced the hall. "See? He listens. Because he chose me. Because we trust each other. That's not something you can order with parchment and seals."
The silence shattered. Students erupted into whispers, shouts, gasps.
Fred Weasley leapt to his feet, cupping his hands around his mouth. "That's our Oliver!"
George followed at once, clapping so loudly it echoed. "Give him a medal!"
The Gryffindor table roared in applause, and the ripple spread outward. Even some Hufflepuffs joined in, stamping their feet, their cheers bouncing against the stone walls. Ravenclaws murmured with wide-eyed admiration, while most Slytherins sat stunned into silence.
Umbridge's shrill voice cut through the noise. "This—this is exactly what I warned you about! Uncontrollable! Dangerous! It attacked Aurors in front of children!"
Dumbledore rose, his voice carrying with calm authority. "No, Dolores. What I saw was restraint. Not one student was harmed. Not one teacher touched. The phoenix struck only those who struck at it."
Shacklebolt straightened, still pale but firm. "He's right. The cry was directed. It knew who it was aiming for."
Tonks, still shielding a group of nervous Hufflepuffs, added, "It wasn't wild. I've seen creatures lash out. This wasn't that. It was controlled."
Umbridge whirled on them, her smile cracking into fury. "You dare contradict the Ministry's orders?"
Shacklebolt's deep voice rumbled in reply. "I'm stating what I witnessed."
Dawlish staggered upright, his face red, his robes stained where blood had trickled down his neck. His glare could have cut stone. "This boy thinks he's above the law. That thing is a weapon—nothing more."
Oliver's head snapped toward him. "A weapon?" He took a step forward, the phoenix steady on his shoulder. "If he wanted to be a weapon, you'd all be on the ground right now. He's not. He's my friend. He's my family. And you can't put him in a cage because you're afraid of what you don't understand."
The hall roared again—this time not just applause but voices rising in agreement, shouts of "He's right!" and "Leave him be!" echoing from the Gryffindor table and beyond.
Hermione leaned forward, her eyes shining. "Well said," she whispered, her voice almost lost in the noise. Harry grinned, pride flickering across his face.
Umbridge's voice shrieked above the storm. "This proves nothing! The danger remains. The boy is reckless, the bird untested. The Minister will not tolerate such insolence."
"Then perhaps," Dumbledore said smoothly, his eyes glittering, "the Minister should concern himself with governing, rather than trying to rob a child of what was freely given to him."
The Great Hall erupted once more—some in cheers, others in scandalized gasps.
Umbridge's face mottled pink. "This is not over," she snapped, her toadlike mouth twisting. "The Minister will hear of this defiance."
Dawlish barked, "We're done here. Fall back."
The Aurors regrouped, battered and humiliated. Shacklebolt's expression was unreadable, though his eyes lingered on Oliver as if weighing something deeper. Tonks shot Oliver a look—half warning, half sympathy—before turning on her heel.
Umbridge swept out last, her stiff smile returned, though it wavered at the edges.
The doors slammed shut.
For a heartbeat, the hall was silent again. Then Fred and George began to clap once more, louder than ever, until the Gryffindor table joined them in a wave of noise. Even some Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs hesitantly added their applause.
Oliver sat back down slowly, the phoenix warm and solid against him. It leaned into him, its feathers brushing his neck, its presence a reminder: you are not alone.
He stared at his plate, uneaten food long cold, and let the roar of the hall wash over him.
They had tried to take his bond. They had failed.
But deep inside, Oliver knew this was not victory. It was only the beginning.